Page 72 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
“Augushtine is my name, and I rather like it from your lipsh.”
He went to hug her but used the wrong damn arm. “Shiiit. Come here, Gush.”
She kissed him then, and cupped his jaw. “I adore you, Kane. You are big and bold and such a brute. With you, I am…” She squinted at the walls around them. “I am safe. Protected. I knew somehow I had the power to hurt that man today. I knew it because you were there. Oh, yes, you had a wound to your shoulder, but I didn’t know how bad it was. I panicked. I had to save you because, despite the fact that you had not told me about Ramsey—nor have you told me all yet about what you do here—I trust you. You have been a rock. My rock.” Tears dribbled down her cheeks.
He brushed them away.
“And now, sir, before I become a gushing Augushtine, I am going downstairs, and you are going to sleep.”
He kept her hand. “When you return, we will talk. I will tell you all.”
*
As she satin the wing chair before the fire, she watched Kane sleep. She had donned her ripped chemise and her robe. Shesipped a glass of whisky. She did not draw. She did not knit. She was at peace.
Curious, that. She’d not felt in control of her life for many months. Or perhaps, if she were honest, for many years. Not since she’d begun her work to filter news out of France to those who opposed the country’s chaotic intrusion into other lands. Only working with Kane, living with him, laughing and striving, meant better days. That brought a smile to her lips.
She nodded. For, whatever the source of her tranquility, the logic made great sense to her. Kane performed a service for his country. She performed the same service. Perhaps she performed it for many other countries whose existence was now threatened by the first consul and his less-than-illustrious friends. Kane’s work was for those same beneficiaries. He had as one of his duties finding Amber. She had searched for her dear friend not because Amber was her superior, but because she had been her dearest soul, save for Aunt Cecily, most of her life.
Now that Amber was at the moment found and in the company of Kane’s friend, she was safe. Until and unless Kane had reason to find Amber himself—or Ramsey failed—he and she were without cause.
She stirred in her chair. Was Kane’s and her work at an end?
She flinched. It hit her like a slice of her own knife. She put a hand to her temple and pressed the pain. If her purpose was gone, so was her need to be with Kane.
She shot from her chair and sought a strong portion of the remaining whisky in the bottle. If they were done, what was she to do with all her admiration for him? All her delight in his company? All her desire.
She refilled her glass…but stared down at it.
She sank to her chair.
She had never made a habit of brooding. But now the nothingness of what lay before her shocked her. Like the roomthat surrounded her, her days loomed in shades of gray and ashes of regret. The fire in the grate lured her. There was heat and substance, the reds of roses and cherries, wine…and love. One could live in black turmoil or find the passion of living.
Suddenly, to her surprise, she was sobbing into the torn hem of her chemise.
She gasped, covering her mouth and moving as far away from the bed as she could get to keep from waking him.
Kane stirred in his sleep, and she grew alarmed. Hurrying to him, she bent and put a hand to his forehead. He was cool. She ran her fingers through his hair, his thick black curls that always needed a good combing. She stroked his cheeks that always needed the perfection of his hand at his razor. His jaw that never needed more strength than it exhibited. His lips. His firm lips that she had only sampled. Never truly tasted. Never would again, if he and she were to part.
She held back a huge sob and shut her eyes to turn away.
But he seized her wrist. “My darling,” he called to her, and pulled her down. “What’s wrong?”
“I worry about you.”
He slid his head to one side upon the pillow. In his long-lashed eyes stood a question.
Perceptive devil.
“Am I near death?”
She laughed through a fresh wealth of tears.
“Oh, sweetheart. You sob. Come here.” He tugged her.
She relented and plunked down beside him.
“No missish stuff. Do lie down with me, Gus.”
